


Hangover

by rangerhitomi



Series: radical dreamers [6]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Past Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Durbe gets toasted one night and can't figure out where his pants went.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hangover

**Author's Note:**

> I have this headcanon that Durbe is a seasoned drinker and likes to go hang out with the other boys. Nasch occasionally disapproves.

He doesn’t know how much he’s had to drink, only that it’s been probably a lot, a lot more than usual, but the others are goading him on and it’s  _really good ale_  so he keeps downing it and the other soldiers cheer and laugh and they start toasting to  _Sir Durbe, the knight who keeps coming back for some reason_ and one of them jokes that  _Prince Nasch is that reason_ and Durbe laughs nervously through his hazy state of mind and ends up choking up half a mug all over his pants.

They convince him that it’s probably time to go, and they’re probably right because he can’t remember what day of the week it is anymore, and he may have said some embarrassing things and he prays on the walk back to the palace that none of them had asked him anything about Nasch because he  _might have said something_ and if he did he might get in some pretty serious trouble, but he’s too drunk to think of excuses and too tired to care too much.

Nasch is standing barefoot in the hall in his nightgown and Durbe glances at the ground because Nasch is frowning and his arms are crossed and he looks annoyed and Durbe wonders what time it is because if it’s past two he’s certainly in trouble, and Nasch says  _it’s almost sunrise_  and Durbe is sure there’s been some kind of mistake and he tries to tell Nasch so but ends up blacking out.

* * *

He slowly comes around, and his head hurts worse than the time Nasch had tripped him and made him hit his head on the side of the fountain during training, and his mouth tastes like rotten barley and he runs a hand through his hair and it’s particularly a mess but he doesn’t open his eyes because  _it’s worship day, right? I can pray later_  –

-except someone pulls open the curtains and lets in a flood of excruciatingly bright sunlight, and he squints his eyes, muttering curses under his breath, and his eyes are gummy and he can barely see but he’s pretty sure that’s… that’s  _Nasch_ walking back to the bed, and Durbe reaches down to pull his blanket up and realizes  _his pants are missing_.

He can’t remember  _anything,_  only that some of the others wanted to go drinking with him – yes, it was coming back now, and he had… made quite a public spectacle of himself again, probably – but how was he here-

 _Wait a minute, where_ is  _here, is this my room_

_No this isn’t my bed these aren’t my sheets oh gods above this is Nasch’s room_

_this is Nasch’s bed_

_THESE ARE NASCH’S SHEETS_

-and he pulls the blanket up all the way and Nasch climbs onto the bed and leans close to Durbe and smiles and Durbe couldn’t be less humiliated.

“Good morning,” Nasch says cheerfully, and Durbe’s heart is racing and his head  _hurts_

_(oh gods does my head hurt)_

and Nasch, he realizes with a jolt of terror, is wearing only a nightshirt (he was definitely wearing an entire gown last night, Durbe was sure of that if he wasn’t sure of anything else) and Nasch leans close to him, touching Durbe’s face with a soft hand and Durbe squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to make sense of it all, and finally he blurts out

_“Where are my pants?”_

He hears a soft chuckle and he opens his eyes, and Nasch is… Nasch is entirely too close to him now, and they’re, well, this is improper, this is about as improper as anything Durbe could possibly imagine and he just wants to know where his damn pants are.

“Don’t you remember?” Nasch whispers, and his lips are near Durbe’s ear somehow and Durbe is paralyzed because  _he doesn’t_ and he tells Nasch so and Nasch looks  _disappointed_ and Durbe wants to know what’s going on and _WHERE ARE MY PANTS_ but Nasch won’t say and then his lips are hovering over Durbe’s and Durbe’s heart will probably never go back to its normal rate ever again.

Nasch ruffles Durbe’s hair. “You’re adorable when you wake up, you know. Such stylish bedhead.”

“My prince,” Durbe begins in a strangled voice, but Nasch tilts his head and Durbe opens his mouth – was it to kiss Nasch or to protest this, he didn’t know – but the next thing he knew he has a handful of strong mint leaves shoved in his mouth and Nasch is straightening up.

“You drank entirely too much last night, my friend,” Nasch says, and he’s entirely business now, adjusting his cloak. “Get washed up; you smell gross.” He gives Durbe a side-glance and Durbe has no idea what’s going on. “And brush your hair. You look like hell.”

He’s halfway out the door when Durbe spits out a half-chewed wad of mint and blurts out one last time “Where are my pants?” and Nasch turns and raises an eyebrow.

“You were wandering the halls without them last night,” he says, completely serious, and Durbe’s face blanches as Nasch leaves the room.


End file.
